


The Wrath Of Grapes

by SarahRad



Series: Just Your Average Crime Fighting Family [1]
Category: Marvel (Movies)
Genre: Domestic, Gen, M/M, Superfamily, Superhusbands, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-31
Updated: 2012-05-31
Packaged: 2017-11-06 09:38:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/417405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahRad/pseuds/SarahRad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter comes home hungover after spending the night at a high school house party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wrath Of Grapes

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea I've been tossing around for a few days. A lot of the Superfamily fics I see have Peter as a toddler or small child, but I wanted to see how Steve and Tony would deal with a teenager. So this happened.

Peter shuffled through the dreary Sunday morning New York streets, heading for home. It was very early but the day wasn’t looking promising with dark clouds drenching the city in rain. He didn’t have an umbrella, but he hardly cared.

He had spent the previous night at a party thrown by one of his classmates. He couldn’t even remember who it was now, but it didn’t matter because everyone from school had been there. 

Of course, he didn’t think it really mattered who had been there or what had happened, because he was so hungover he couldn’t remember his own phone number. It was likely that most of classmates were in a worse state than he was, too.

Peter arrived at Stark Tower and looked up, ignoring the rain falling directly in his eyes. Normally he would scale the walls and climb in the window to his bedroom up in the apartment at the top, but today he didn’t think he could handle it. Between the rain slicked glass and his shoddy hungover balance, he didn’t think he could make it. Heaving a sigh he trudged through the front door and into the empty elevator, sliding down to sit in the corner as he waited for it to reach the top.

When the elevator doors opened with a ding, Peter couldn’t help but cringe at the obnoxiously loud noise. He crawled out of the elevator, too dizzy to stand up, hoping his parents were still in bed. It wasn’t even 7:30am and it was a Sunday, so they should still be in bed, he reasoned. As long as the elevator chime hadn’t woken them up, he could crawl (quite literally) into bed to sleep away the morning, and nobody would be the wiser!

“Morning, bud. Rough night?”

Peter cringed, freezing on the spot. Looking up, he saw his Dad, dressed in pajama pants and an old tshirt, leaning on the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee.

“I can explain.” Peter said as he tried to get up off the floor.

“I’m excited to hear it, although I think I can figure it out on my own.” Tony said wryly as he helped his son up and steered him into a chair at the kitchen table. Peter collapsed forward onto the table, pillowing his head on his arms with a groan.

“Did you think I wouldn’t figure it out? You smell like a brewery, kiddo.” Tony said with a small grin. He pulled a Gatorade out of the fridge and placed it in front of Peter on the table. “Drink that. Trust me.”

“Arrrnmdmee?” Peter mumbled into his arm.

“Sorry? Didn’t quite catch that.” Tony said, taking the seat opposite Peter.

Peter sat back in his chair, still avoiding meeting his father’s eyes. “Aren’t you mad at me?”

“Mad? No. Happy? Still no. But you’re 16, it’s going to happen whether I want it to or not. I mean, I let you crawl up the side of the building on a daily basis, so I’m not sure where my Normal Parenting Advice should start and end. But I’m glad to see you didn’t do that in this state. So thanks for that.”

Peter just opened the Gatorade bottle with his teeth and watched his Dad carefully, looking for signs of the reprimand he was sure was on it’s way. Tony sighed.

“Listen, Peter, I’m not going to ground you. I think that hangover is punishment enough, if you ask me. And you’re clearly feeling guilty enough. So let’s just leave it at that. Drink your Gatorade, get some sleep, and definitely take a shower before you see your Pop. He might not be as forgiving as I am.”

“You’re not going to tell him?”

“Oh I’m going to tell him. But you might want to be rested up and seeing clearly when you have that conversation with him, don’t you think?” Peter just nodded slowly. “Alright then, off to bed with you. You want some help getting there?”

“No, I’ll be okay. I made it home, after all.” Peter said with a ghost of a smile as he stood up.

“Alright, sleep well buddy.” Tony said as Peter shuffled slowly to his bedroom.

**

An hour later Steve came into the living room, hair wet from a shower and a mug of coffee in his hand, to find Tony watching some old home videos on his laptop. He curled up next to him on the sofa and watched as 6-year-old Peter practiced diving into a pool. He was a gangly and awkward kid, so it wasn’t so much a dive as a flailing belly flop. Steve smiled at the memory of that day.

“Peter came home, then?”

“Yup. He was incredibly hungover so I gave him some Gatorade and sent him to bed.”

“How hungover?” Steve asked, narrowing his eyes.

“He crawled out of the elevator.” Tony said, looking over as the shock registered on Steve’s face.

“Woah” he breathed.

“Yeah. Anyways, I told him to get some sleep, and have a shower because he reeked of beer, and I told him you’d be talking to him later.”

“Why am I always the one who does the punishing?”

“Because you’re so good at it.” Tony said with a wicked grin as he leaned in and kissed Steve’s jaw. “And besides, I have to be the sympathetic one in this situation. How many hangovers have you had, Mr. Alcohol-Doesn’t-Affect-Me?”

“I still don’t see why I have to be the one to punish him.”

“Well then don’t punish him. If you ask me, that hangover is worse than any punishment we could lay down. Just give him a talking to. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“You’re probably right. When did he get home?”

“An hour ago. He’ll probably sleep till at least noon, so we’ve got some time to kill.”

“Gee, however shall we spend it?” Steve said with a wicked grin, as he pulled Tony in for a kiss.

**

Peter woke up feeling sticky and groggy and gross all over. He had peeled off his wet clothes and crawled into bed in his boxers, fast asleep before the damp clothes even hit the floor. As he reached for the bottle of Gatorade on the night stand, he checked the clock. 12:30. He could barely read the number in his groggy state, let alone tell if it was am or pm, but he didn’t really care. All he wanted at this point was a shower, so he hauled himself out of bed and into the bathroom.

It took him five minutes of just standing under the scalding spray before he was alert enough to properly shower, but he made it through somehow. Afterwards, as he was looking for something to wear, he decided on just a pair of sweat pants. He had no plans for leaving the house again, and he wasn’t feeling up for dealing with a zipper or belt, or even a shirt.

Still toting his bottle of Gatorade, he screwed up his courage to face his Pop and left his bedroom.

The house was empty. He searched the living room, the kitchen, even his parent’s bedroom, but they were both nowhere to be found. Well, he wasn’t about to go looking for a scolding, so he flopped on the couch and turned the TV on, flipping to some old cartoons. Before long he was fast asleep, snoring to the sounds of The Roadrunner Show.

**

Peter woke up to a hand stroking through his messy hair. He sighed and leaned into the touch, realizing that his head was pillowed on somebody’s lap instead of the couch cushions. He couldn’t tell who it was, but he had a good guess.

“If you’re going to yell at me, can I least stay right here?” he mumbled into a muscled thigh. Steve chuckled.

“I’m not going to yell at you, but you should sit up anyways.” Peter groaned as he sat up, stretching his arms until he heard his shoulders pop.

“That’s not good for you, you know.” Steve said, narrowing his eyes.

“Don’t care, it feels good.” Peter sighed with a smile.

“And how does your head feel?” Peter’s smile slipped off his face.

“Better than it did this morning.” He admitted, reaching over to grab his Gatorade from the coffee table.

“How was the party?” Steve asked. Peter narrowed his eyes, searching for the question that wasn’t being asked out loud, but he couldn’t find it.

“It was alright. Lots of people. Loud music. The stereotypical house party.” Peter said carefully.

“Don’t remember much from it do you?” Steve asked with a wry smile, and all of a sudden Peter could see where this was going.

“Not too much.” He replied as his shoulders slumped in defeat.

“So was it worth it?”

“What do you want me to say, Pop?” Peter asked after a pause. “My head is all fuzzy, I’m covered in bruises with mysterious origins, I fell asleep on a sticky kitchen floor, and the whole party was just a lot of people being jostled around in a house much too small to fit them all while the music was cranked way too loud. You couldn’t have a conversation at all!”

“You know, I don’t think conversations are the main point of high school house parties.” Steve interjected. Peter just glared at him.

“Sure, but all of that bad stuff aside, I would probably go to another one.” Peter said with a shrug.

“Well at least you’re being honest with me, and that’s all that really matters, Peter.”

“So you don’t care that I was drunk off my face last night, stumbled home in the rain while it was still dark outside, and could barely walk through the front door?” Peter asked, a tad incredulously.

“Oh I care, and so does your Dad, but we’d rather know where you were and what you were doing than have you sneak around behind our backs.”

“I guess that makes sense. So I’m really not in trouble?”

“No, Peter. Just… be safe, okay?”

“I can do that, Papa.” Peter said, reverting to the childhood moniker as he leaned into Steve’s side. Steve put his arm around him and they watched cartoons like that for the rest of the afternoon, only getting interrupted once when Tony came to join them.


End file.
